


you’re part of the past, but now you’re the future

by Carth



Category: Richard III - Shakespeare, The White Queen (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Incest, Minor Character(s), No Sexual Content, The Author Regrets Nothing, Uncle/Niece Incest, i love it i don't give a damn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-25
Updated: 2020-10-25
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:15:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27198358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Carth/pseuds/Carth
Summary: He's fourteen when little Bess is born, and it scares him - the way his brother's face softens and the way his calloused palms spread open to hold the girl. She's not really pretty, no child is pretty two hours into their birth, but she looks like her parents and Richard has to love her and he tries.
Relationships: Elizabeth of York Queen of England/Richard III of England
Comments: 2
Kudos: 14





	you’re part of the past, but now you’re the future

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so this is the longest one-piece I've ever written and it took me like two years but here it is. I don't condone any sort of incestual relationship or something like that, but I loved the show and the couple. Here Richard is around 31, Elizabeth is roughly 17. No sexual content, no kissing basically. Yep.
> 
> Elizabeth's nickname here is "Bess", so don't be surprised at that. I actually find it amusing because in my mother tongue ut sounds like the word "бес" which is used to denote a demon.
> 
> Also, English is not my native language so if you find any mistakes please let me know, I'd appreciate it.
> 
> Lastly, I don't like Anne in the show, so it can be seen clearly in this work. Just to warn you. If you don't like this pairing - don't read it. You've been warned.

He's more pliant than his brothers, not as eager to control and bend into obedience as Edward, not as funny and outgoing as George. He grows up in Margaret's company, because Edward and George, despite their differences and an eternal competing, are the only ones who can handle each other. They're always in motion, sports and wild running around the house and their land doing nothing to cease their never ending energy. Edward enjoys attention, spotlight, and it's not the one he gets during family outings, with cameras and ladies with plump painted lips that leave sticky splotches on their cheeks. Edward can climb tables in restaurants and shout in school hallways because he likes noise and people tend to like him. George is more subtle, his always present anxiety and fear of being the most boring and least interesting of them fading him into the background a bit. But George learns how to be loud and obnoxious, how to follow Edward and keep up and soon it's impossible to remember a shy boy with tight-lipped smiles and see what parts of George actually belong to him. 

Edward and George blend together, they swap clothes, they have the same haircuts, and by ten Richard can’t understand which traits belong to Edward and which belong to George, where one boy ends and the other begins. His brothers don’t really distinguish between their things, nothing really belongs to a certain someone: they’re a big family, they are used to sharing.

Margaret can keep up with their brothers but prefers quiet places and Richard. She shares books and takes him to parks, shows him around the city. They explore every little park they stumble across and collect leaves and tickets to put into Richard's small memory box. She buys him lemonade in summers and hot chocolate when it gets colder, they find a lady selling apples in caramel and Richard’s teeth stick together, it’s hard to talk and his cheeks hurt from smiling and the biting cold. Margaret laughs, her cheeks are rosy from her drink - it smells of spices, quite strongly, but tastes sweet, she lets Richard have a sip but tells not to tell mother and laughs at her own words - nothing they ever do is reported to mother, outside of the house and away from their watchful guard they are nothing but kids roaming the city.

Edward starts hanging out with girls, much to their mother's annoyance, he brings them home on weekends when their parents are out. They find Richard adorable, bring him sweets and books for children and he accepts their attention, even though he's outgrown fairytales and coloring books a few years ago. They want Edward to like them and it ultimately means they need to charm his brothers and sister. Margaret usually huffs in annoyance but Richard thinks the girls are nice, at least until Edward smiles at them sweetly and they leave the house screaming and crying. 

George and Edward get into their first fight over a girl when he's ten. There's shouting and for the first time Richard thinks George can overpower their elder brother. George is more methodical when it comes to exercising, he knows Edward better than himself, and he delivers punches like he wants to kill. 

"She's not your toy," he nearly cries, hitting Edward in the midriff, knocking the elder on the ground. "She's not yours to play with, people aren't your property, Ed, you can't use them, they won't deal with your indecisive ass and hand you their lives."

Edward has blood spilling on his nice shirt, his chin, his knuckles bruised and cracked. He smiles the way he smiles at his girls, and even with red all over his mouth he's handsome, in a brutal medieval way, like he’s out for blood and victory.

"Doesn't matter. They'll never choose someone like you, George. They'll choose everyone over you, even Richard," Edward smiles at him and waves his hand. "Help me, punk."

Richard doesn't understand he's crying until Margaret wipes his cheek and takes him to his room. Her hands are wet and gentle, cold in a pleasant way. Richard follows her willingly, sobbing a bit because he's a kid and he doesn't want to see his family fall apart, even if it only includes his siblings, who are so different sometimes he doubts they're a family, but similar in a weird way (in the way their hair curls after rain, the way they talk leisurely and in expressionless way, the way Margaret can say nasty things she must've heard from their mother and Edward has her eyes and manners). George takes his other hand with his own clean one, smearing blood with the other over his pants.

"Don't bring him into this mess, Ed. You're pathetic."

Richard is twelve when his elder brother tells him about his second wife, Elizabeth. She's by his side all the time, narrow pale eyes and prominent cheekbones. Her black dresses are rich in color and fabric, they hug her slender figure tightly and her thin wrists look fragile, like every bone can be shattered if you apply too much pressure. But the second Richard's eyes glue to her he knows that these elegant hands and fingers hold his brother's heart tightly and pull at his strings. 

George scoffs, his expression full of doubt and a cruel husky laugh deep in his throat: George remembers that poor sweet little thing Edward claimed to fall in love with two years ago, her innocent eyes and happy smiles, always shy and far in between. Elizabeth's eyes are cold and for some time Richard doubts her love for his brother. Not like he has a say in it, Edward and Elizabeth grow closer and maybe some marriages need the willing to hold on to each other and sneaky glances and hands being held under the tables.

Edward never talks to him about serious things, only quickly passes him in the hallways and pats his back. He was never touchy but his eyes were soft and he used to play with him or recommend books and laugh at his jokes. His hands are wrapped tightly around Elizabeth's waist and he only talks to Richard about house chores or his school. 

He laughs with Elizabeth and his touch is greedy, like he's not satisfied with what he has. Richard doesn’t understand his brother’s obsession with Elizabeth, how Edward turns into a gray distant mass the second Elizabeth leaves him. 

"She doesn't love Edward, does she?" He asks George after another family dinner, awkward when Richard has to talk to Elizabeth's parents and Anne and Isabelle (the Nevilles are always around, lingering in the rooms, Richard notices Anne's eyes on him all the time, and it's cute, really). His stomach is pleasantly full and there's a lazy edge to his voice. George smiles and pinches his cheek. 

"I don't know, punk. Sometimes I think she does, sometimes I think she wants to devour our whole family. Love is complicated and we can't get inside her head to know for sure. Edward loves her, I guess it's enough for him. Let him be." 

That night he stares at Elizabeth more than usual, and she smiles at him, warm and welcoming, and Richard thinks he can live with it. 

He's fourteen when little Bess is born, and it scares him - the way his brother's face softens and the way his calloused palms spread open to hold the girl. She's not really pretty, no child is pretty two hours into their birth, but she looks like her parents and Richard has to love her and he tries, but he can only see Elizabeth's pale face with red splotches and mild anger in her eyes: Bess is not a son, and it makes Richard think about his own mother and wonder if her eyes faded a little when she looked at him for the first time. 

Cecily pets his head and says something about some boarding school, with priests and religion studies, Richard isn't quite sure - he's tipsy, a bottle of liquor in his backpack, because his friends want a party and George is generous and somewhat loving. 

"You'll like it. Your father used to attend this school and dare I say they made him a noble intelligent man. 'Twas long ago but I believe you'll meet his Godfather." 

Richard ends up hating blue woolen blazers and plain meals. He spends his days wandering around empty classrooms, sitting behind desks and writing short stories. He never writes about himself, at least not entirely. The characters usually look like his family members or some people he knows, his classmates, random people he runs into from time to time. His characters have stupid little details about them that Richard collects from everyone he knows: dusty books on the shelves from Edward, thick golden rings from his mother, cigarette packs from George, allergies from Bess, Anne's shy round eyes, Elizabeth's heavy beautiful hair and all other absolutely unimportant things. 

He meets a girl, Lily, she's from Scotland and the syllables are thick on her tongue, she says one thing and he hears another. But it's endearing, he’s grown bored in school and her pink lips taste like Diet Coke and cherry gum. It's new, fresh, and they spend six months dating, wandering around the little town near his school and watching old movies, and by the time she breaks up with him he gets used to her and it kinda hurts to let her go. Her pretty round face twitches in anger, red splotches on her cheeks and an ugly curve of her lip. 

"You're too distant, cold and I fucking knew you'd break my heart. I wish I had never met you, Richard. Aye, say something!" 

She has the voice of a heartbroken woman, Richard has heard it once and comparing her and Edward's first wife is amusing but he doesn't think she'll appreciate it.

"I'm sorry." 

She laughs at him. 

"No, you're not." 

He's not. 

The truth is, Richard has never loved anyone in romantic way. He likes some people, he can appreciate beauty, sparks in someone’s eyes or dimples, curves and dips of bodies, sharp angles of cheekbones and the softness of lips and thighs. He likes the way they talk passionately about little things, their pets, families, the way they crook fingers and jump when they're excited. But he likes to watch them more, never getting too close, never bonding, just leaving a trace in their lives.

They find him endearing, mysterious, in a romantic old kind of way, with thin lips and new fresh books, they leave him notes, with round carefully written words. They want different things; boys are usually more indecisive, they want to have fun, locked in dusty old rooms and having nowhere to run; girls want romance, pretty words and making out deep in the parks, to later leave fixing their hair and skirts. Richard puts all his notes into his boxes, borrows some words for his stories but nothing really serious happens to him.

He marries Anne before his senior year at university. Studying is draining and boring for the most part and he spends more time with new people, drinking and smoking. His hands always smell like cigarettes and for some reason people find this attractive.

Anne doesn’t. When he visits the family dinner one day she gasps in his arms and hisses about lung cancer and skin and teeth problems. He looks at her curiously, at her small eyes and thin lips and finds her high-pitched voice amusing - she was frail as a kid, lanky and awkward-looking and as a grown-up she doesn’t look that different - maybe her dresses got a bit shorter and sshe started wearing make-up (in a God honouring way, but still). She’s still a little quiet girl who was head over hills in love with him at sixteen and she still is.

He pays attention to her, catches his mother’s gaze and her smile is sticky and red. She’s satisfied with his attitude and waves her hand at Anne. Her heavy rings shine in the sunlight and catch Bess’s attention. The girl shrieks in delight and tries to catch her grandmother’s hand. 

“Grandma Cecily, give me a ring,” her speech isn’t the most eloquent, even though Elizabeth hires a tutor for her. 

“No, Elizabeth, you’re too young for such jewelry. We will buy you something fit for your age, alright?” Cecily smiles tightly, her eyes remain cold and Richard doesn’t really understand her - Bess is a wonderful girl, smart and very cunning for an eight-year old. She laughs at her younger siblings, hugs everyone and smiles at him a lot.

“Am not Elizabeth, I’m Bess. Richard calls me that, right?” the girl turns to him and Richard waves his fingers lightly. 

“Uncle Richard would call you a pumpkin if your mother allowed, but lucky for us she doesn’t. Go find your father and the boys, I need you all for a photo.”

Richard sits down for the picture, Margaret on his right and George on his left, smiling. He smells strongly of liquor and women’s perfume, Margaret slaps his hand and hugs Richard loosely. He feels a hand on his shoulder and knows it’s Anne. Richard clutches her fingers lightly and circles her knuckles - Anne gasps and tightens her grip. She doesn’t leave his side after that. 

He doesn't really love her, at least not in a romantic way, doesn't think he has ever truly loved someone who's not his siblings or parents. Anne is small, frail, and on their wedding night he has this nagging fear of breaking her (he does it more than ten years later, not that he's afraid of it anymore). 

He doesn't think she loves him now. Anne always liked the old version of Richard, the way he was at twelve, thirteen, sixteen, even if they didn't see each other a lot. Anne is still in love with the boy he once was, she sees him like that and is proud to be the one to know him the best. Richard doesn't have the heart to tell her he's not this boy anymore, he has different aims, he doesn't want all this happy family bullshit she's so focused on giving him. In Anne's opinion they are perfect for each other, she balances him, she keeps him grounded. The truth is he feels like a prisoner with her.

She's nice, quiet and most of the time he doesn't see her but feels her presence in his house. All these little things: tiny teacups, dried flowers, the sweet and heady, almost too much scent of her perfume, the one that reminds him of London and these parties with important people, the Bible on the dining table. Richard opens two big windows and picks his cigarettes, lighting one. The scent of nicotine and woods and earth fills his lungs and he finally exhales. 

His son is a frail boy, and he reminds Richard so much of himself, but as years go by he understands that Edward is as far from him as possible, familiar in the way his cousins were. Edward is his mother's son, he's gentle and religious, he likes playing and not studying and Anne lets him skip classes because he's prone to colds and Anne is a good mother. Richard once takes him to the seaside and Edward wets his feet and starts sneezing and coughing. Anne screams at him for two hours, wails while bundling Edward up, and Richard doesn't take him anywhere with him after it.

Bess is sixteen when he finds her smoking, a short dress hugging her figure, lipstick red and smudged. She called him, asking to meet her after some party with high school seniors, because she doesn't want to talk to her father (like he even cares, she tells him quietly). She's never afraid of her mother, Elizabeth is fine with everything until it stays in the family and not in popular papers. 

Richard takes her cigarette and takes a hit: the smoke is thick and soft on his lips. The streets are empty and dark, neon lights of supermarkets reflect in his glasses, pretty girls behind them chirping loudly, calling after Bess. The air smells like earth, booze and fancy perfumes, like the ones Bess likes, the ones Richard always gives her for her birthdays: they used to be sweet, like caramel or vanilla when she was fourteen, and now she smells expensive and fresh, like spices, sea and grass. It reminds him of evenings in the garden of their old house in Greater London, among white columns and hidden ponds, of boat-rides and Bess' white dresses, light eerie fabrics and gentle wrists with hand-made bracelets. The velvety swell of land faded into gray on the horizon, the air smelled like lavender and apples and Richard's lips were sweet from all the berries, summer almost gone, hot and humid. 

Three weeks later he sees her outside of her father's study, hands trembling and eyes red and puffy. She's not the one to cry easily so he feels this heavy urge to fix everything. 

Edward has his lover over. Some petite polished thing, not too short and not too tall, hair blonde and slick, expensive blazer and rings. She's married (or engaged, not that he cares). Her face is simple and pretty but nothing outstanding or interesting (in the following years he starts to see the resemblance every woman in Edward's bed bears to Elizabeth, but like a bad copy or a dupe - similar, but lacking some vital details). 

"Nice to meet you, Richard," she smiles, extending her hand, and he frowns, the ugly crease of his mouth. 

"Bess is waiting for you outside," he says to Edward and watches his brother's face fall. Fair and square. "Better talk to her before she goes to Elizabeth." 

Later he walks in on her smoking on the balcony in the further wing of the house, the one where her parents never show up, he's not sure they even know where her bedroom is. 

"How are you?" He slides his arm up her shoulder blades, she's awfully thin, not in an artsy fashionable way. 

"Fine," she croaks, a few curly strands of hair framing her face. "Really, Richard, I'm fine. Not that it's the first time I walk in on them. Just never thought they'd dare fuck in his study. Choices, you know." 

"Aren't you afraid your parents will get divorce? Make you choose between them?" 

"No. Mom knows about his affairs, mom stopped caring, and I could give less fucks if they divorced. There's barely any love left in this household. Mom only cares about her precious sons. Dad only cares about this - I don't even know her name. I'm not welcomed here anymore, so, you know, no hard feelings." 

"You can move to my house in Edinburgh. I'd be happy to see you." 

He waits for her after school, all black leather and dark eyes, and he notices the glances and shameless staring, hears her friends whisper to each other about him and their guesses as to who he is and if they're a couple. It flatters him but not really: he's used to talks and these are highschoolers with their clumsy hands and tongues, voices high-pitched and broken around the edges. 

Edward makes them come to the Christmas celebrations. Richard strolls by the rooms and hears soft whispers of Bess and one of her friends. 

"I wish my husband would be like your uncle", the girl's voice is high and whiny. 

"Why? Is Richard your type?" 

"He's so handsome, and he's intelligent and he has his business and his own house. Pity he's Anne's." 

"No." 

"What?" 

"Richard is not Anne's. She's his, but he belongs to himself." 

He goes to the USA for a business trip, and New York is full of people, the air is hot and he looks at girls in short skirts and shorts, with colorful hair and piercings. Bess would look strange among them, but she'd probably like the atmosphere and food. He buys her shoes and a poetry book. The cover reminds him of her somehow: purple and blue-ish tones, the font small and thin, so he doesn't think about it a lot. 

Bess lives with them in Edinburgh, she takes up one of the rooms on the upper floors and every morning comes down, her hair fluffy and in messy buns. She talks to Anne, pats the dogs and asks Richard if he can drive her to the university, they have some sort of a fair.

He lets her study for her classes in his study, brings her huge cups of tea and books from her room if she needs them. They spend evenings together, Bess’s feet on his lap while he’s flicking through some documents. His dogs sleep on the carpet, snoring and whimpering and Bess angles her body to pet them. Their tea and coffee mugs are on a low table near, the scent is pleasant and fresh, some peppermint and melissa and caramel. 

“Do you have any plans for the weekend?” Bess asks nonchalantly, like it’s more of an afterthought. She wiggles her feet and Richards catches one by an ankle and sets it down firmly: he can feel the bones under the thick wool of the socks and the heat of skin. 

“Anne wants us to go to Church, Ed has his first choir performance.”

“That’s tight,” Bess closes her laptop and shuffles closer, putting her head on his shoulder; her hair is a bit wet and it tickles his neck. “I will bring some poster, you know, like “Ed has the best voice!”, all that good stuff.”

“That would be nice,” Richard pats her hand lightly, tracing the knuckles with his fingers.”He likes you a lot, thinks you’re his big sister.”

Bess draws back suddenly and he misses the warmth immediately.

“Am not though,” she tucks her hair behind her ears and hugs her knees close to her chest, like she’s still a tiny child, not a seventeen-year old girl.

“You’re right. You’re not his sister, so it wouldn’t be bad if you didn’t come to his performance,” Anne’s voice is harsh and raspy, she stands in the doorway and Richard can see her thin lips twisted in an ugly frown even from his seat on the couch. “Father Ben said it’s an event only for close family.”

Anne doesn’t like her niece, it’s clear as a day, and Richard swallows his annoyance - it’s not worth it, all the fighting and screaming. He has a permanent headache and Anne’s voice has gotten more unpleasant with time.  
Bess looks hurt, but doesn’t push it. She stands, gathers her books and laptop and leaves the room without looking back. Richard keeps an eye on her until she disappears and finally looks at his wife.

“You could be nicer to the girl. It almost looks like you hate her.”

“And what if I do?” Anne looks defensive, like she’s prepared for a fight, but Richard doesn’t have it in him tonight - not ever, really. Fighting with Anne is even less pleasant than sleeping with her: while she’s quiet and pliant in bed, she’s all screams and accusations in rage, blaming him for everything he’s done and hasn’t done. 

“I don’t understand you. Bess has never done anything to you, she’s a sweet girl.”

“Oh, yes, she’s sweet. So sweet you seem to forget about me.”

“You’re delusional,” Richard stands up, picks their mugs and walks around Anne, heading to the kitchen. It’s a pity, having to throw out good coffee, but Bess is unlikely to come down for a couple of hours, so there’s not that big of a choice.

“I’m the delusional one?” barks Anne. Her hands grip the doorhandle, her face is even more pale than usual and Richard sincerely pities her. “She’s your niece, Richard, your niece. Don’t forget about it. God, you disgust me.”

It’s not like he doesn’t know it. Richard is very aware of them; he and Bess have the same eyes, her manners resemble his, she talks like Edward sometimes, there’s a nametag on her backpack with their surname. She’s family, but here, away from his siblings she’s like a different person who changes every day and morphs into maybe a friend, maybe a confidant. 

He takes Bess to the seaside one day; it's early April, the air is crispy and his fingers feel numb by the time he finishes his cigarette. 

"Would you like to live by the ocean?" He asks Bess, the lazy lilt to his voice ever so present. 

"No. I'd rather see it once. Would you?" 

"No. I don't like it. Too humid and unpredictable. I'm more of a ponds and woods man. Why would you see it only once? It’ pretty. Don’t you kids all want to move close to the ocean?" 

"Aye. I don’t. Just doesn't feel right. As you said. I'm more of a woods and ponds girl." 

Her fingers are blue and cold on his skin, she wraps her thin arms around his middle from behind and clings to him, slowly dragging her feet. 

"I want a piggyback, Richard."

"And there go all your manners. How about 'please, uncle' to start with?"

"Nah, I want a piggyback. Afraid you'll drop me?" Bess blows into his ear, stopping him near the edge of the water. He turns his head back and nearly brushes her nose with his. Bess smiles, her skin is pale and a bit dark under her eyes, she doesn't bother putting on makeup around him.

"I won't drop you." He breathes out, pressing his palms to her forearms. Bess swallows, her mouth a pretty wet "o". She's flawless, even with her unruly hair and disturbingly sharp cheekbones.

"Good. Good. I know that.”

Her lips brush the shell of his ear and Richard tightens his hold on her legs; the wind blows strong, brushes his ankles, Bess is as light as a feather and smells of cigarettes and coconut shampoo she uses, Richard caresses her hand and goes along the shore, close to the water. 

“I wish we could stay here forever. Just you and me,” Bess presses her cheek to his and tightens her grip around his neck.

“Me too, Bess. Me too.”

Maybe Anne was right; maybe he is disgusting. But at this very moment he doesn’t feel like it.

He feels free. And like he loves someone truly for the first time in his life.


End file.
